


Down in the Foreign Fields (Out of the Blue)

by madsthenerdygirl



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, For Those of You Wondering Who Temple Is, M/M, Multi, Road to El Dorado AU, Timeless Season 3 Project References, Wyatt Logan's Bisexuality Crisis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-15 18:41:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19301569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madsthenerdygirl/pseuds/madsthenerdygirl
Summary: Con artists Lucy and Wyatt are on the run from Lucy’s past when they wind up in the supposedly abandoned city of Salona. But there’s more lying here than Roman ruins—including the handsome Flynn, who’s a bit of a con artist himself—and who might make or break Lucy and Wyatt’s tightknit bond. As the two find themselves becoming more entangled with Flynn and the citizens of Salona, they have to reassess who they are and what they really want.





	Down in the Foreign Fields (Out of the Blue)

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Salona is a real place in Croatia but I’m playing fast and loose with the history here. The Diocletian’s Palace is most definitely a real place, and is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, and I highly recommend checking it out if you for some reason happen to be in Croatia.
> 
> And yes I’m aware that the Salona was a Roman city and so should be using Roman names for the gods but I like the Greek names better and this is butchering history already so there.

Lucy bent over the gambling table, making her voice breathy. “Oh, I’ve never played before—what numbers are you supposed to roll again?”

The men around the table all chuckled. “All right, sweetheart,” one of them said. Lucy kept the bemused, kittenish look on her face, ignoring the alcohol on the man’s breath. “You want to roll a four or a seven.”

“Oh, goodness, but it’s all up to chance, isn’t it?” she asked.

“That’s what makes it fun,” the blond man across the table smirked. “Here, you can use my dice.”

“Oh, um, thank you.” Lucy took the dice gratefully, blushing. “So I just… shake and roll?”

“Blow on ‘em for good luck,” another guy said, and all the men laughed.

Lucy smiled, the look in her wide, dark eyes suggesting she didn’t get the joke, and then she shook the dice, blew on them, and rolled.

A pair of sevens.

Lucy squealed. “Oh! Oh look at that! You said that was good, right?” She grabbed the arm of the man nearest her, her mouth turning down into a little mew, her eyes going wide.

“Sure thing, sweetheart. You win the pot.”

Lucy gasped. “Oh, that’s so fun! May I do it again?”

“One more time, and then I think the men want to play for real stakes,” the blond said.

The other men around the table guffawed.

“Oh I’m so silly, of course, I’m intruding. May I watch, at least?” Lucy asked.

“’Course,” one of the men said. He patted his leg, indicating she could sit there, but Lucy pretended not to see it, rolling the dice again.

A pair of sevens.

“Yes!” Lucy blushed. “Must be the… the virgin luck, you called it?”

The men around the table eyed her as she scooped up the coins. “Oh, this was great fun. Thank you for your dice.” She handed the dice back to the blond.

As she did so, another man approached the table, knocking the dice out of their hands and sending them flying to the floor—

Where they landed as a pair of sevens.

A hush fell over the table.

And then all eyes swiveled to the blond man.

“Weighted dice!” someone hissed.

Lucy met the man’s blue eyes and knew he was thinking the same thing she was.

Generally, Wyatt was always thinking the same thing she was.

_Cause chaos._

“You,” he snapped at her, drawing his sword. “What witchcraft did you put on my dice!”

“Witchcraft?” Lucy drew her own sword, a fine, thin rapier she’d handled expertly for years. “You gave me weighted dice, you cheater! I thought I was winning fair and square!”

“Me? A cheater!” Wyatt shouted as Lucy expertly slipped the coin bag into her shirt. Good luck anyone getting that back from her easily. “You’d smear my honor? En garde!”

Their swords met in a clash and they began to duel, leaping over the tables, dodging patrons. Causing chaos.

Everyone was trying to get a good look, including people who had no idea why there was even a fight in the first place and just wanted to get a good seat to watch the inevitable bloodshed.

“You fight like my sister!” Lucy shouted as she thrust and Wyatt just managed to parry in time, riposting and causing Lucy to leap up out of the way.

“I’ve found your sister!” Wyatt shouted back. “That’s a compliment!”

It was, actually. Amy was a very good swordswoman.

They fought their way out of the tavern, into the night air, with everyone yelling and making bets on who would win. The city streets were crowded this time of night, just late enough for the partyers and the drinkers to be out but not so late that everyone was scuttling to bed. A cart rolled by—Lucy leapt over it neatly as Wyatt slid on his knees under it—they both landed and rolled, tucking away their rapiers, grabbed hands, flung their hoods over their shoulders—

And disappeared into the crowd.

Lucy laughed breathlessly as she and Wyatt ducked into an alley some five minutes away, grabbing the purse out of her shirt. “How much did we make?” Wyatt asked.

“Not as much as we would have if that lout hadn’t knocked the dice out of your hands,” Lucy grumbled.

The con was that Lucy would come in, have ‘virgin luck’, and win a couple of rounds, getting some good coin out of it. Wyatt would then do a slight of hand trick to switch from the weighted dice to the regular dice, play a few rounds making reckless bets to drive the pot up, and once the pot was big enough and the men were all well and drunk, Lucy would appear again, beg to join the game, ask to use Wyatt’s dice since they’d given her such luck before, and Wyatt would slight of hand the weighted dice back.

Lucy would then win the entire pot. And since Wyatt had middling luck with his dice, and everyone had seen her take his dice, nobody could claim she was cheating.

It worked beautifully—usually.

Thank goodness for backup plans.

Wyatt braced his hand against the wall by Lucy’s head, grinning at her as she counted out the coins. “A good night, I’d say,” she said, smiling up at him. “C’mon, let’s get ourselves a room.”

“Why bother with a room?” Wyatt asked.

Lucy grinned. Why indeed.

Getting fucked against the wall by your partner in crime was generally an enjoyable experience, and Lucy was most definitely enjoying it, right up through clawing at Wyatt’s back and biting on his earlobe as she came, right up until they’d just sagged against the wall and she heard the last voice any person wants to hear right after (or during or right before, for that matter) sex.

Her mother’s voice.

“Lucy!”

Wyatt groaned into Lucy’s neck and then pulled away from her, setting Lucy on her feet. “Lady Preston,” he said, completely unashamed of the way his clothes were half ripped off from Lucy’s persistent tugging.

Lucy put her hand on her rapier hilt. “Mother.”

Carol Preston eyed Lucy up and down, ignoring Wyatt completely. “I had hoped that this… wild streak of yours would die down. When I heard you were also in Madrid…”

“Mother, I’m not going home.” Lucy took a step forward. Normally she would actually like to cover herself up while talking post-sex but she had a point to prove, so she kept her shirt and her pants open and resolutely looked her mother in the eye. “I meant it when I said that.”

“But I’m going off on a most marvelous expedition, Lucy, you would love it. We’re to try and locate a lost Roman city over near the Dalmatian Coast. My newest associate, Miss Whitmore, comes from a lovely family—you would get along well—she’s dug up this map and—”

“Mother.” Lucy folded her arms. “I’m not interested in any expedition with you. I’m not interested in being a noble, I’m not interested in an arranged marriage, and I’m not interested in begging other rich men for the chance to let me, if they would be _so_ kind, if it’s not _too_ much trouble, go rooting around in the ruins that _they_ don’t want like I’m begging for table scraps!”

Mother and daughter stared one another down, and then Lady Carol Preston drew her skirts up. “Very well. But don’t expect any financial help from me when that rat of yours has knocked you up and vanished.”

Wyatt growled but didn’t move forward. He’d learned the hard way that if he tried to fight Lucy’s battles for her he’d soon have another battle on his hands and that battle would be with a woman who had no problem cutting his dick off to wear as a necklace.

(Lucy’d only had to make that threat once, but once was plenty effective, thanks.)

Lucy kept glaring at Carol until she’d left, at which point she dropped her arms and her shoulders slumped. “I was… that was not how I wanted the evening to end.”

Wyatt walked up, putting his arm around her shoulders. “Hey. It’s okay. You deserve better than her for a mom.” He paused. “…would a brothel help?”

He and Lucy had shared quite a few women in their time together. They both had a weakness for brunettes using silk ties and telling them what to do.

Lucy shook her head. “No.” As much as getting tied up by a beautiful woman and told to beg for it was wonderfully therapeutic, she’d just gotten laid and she didn’t just want to let off more steam—she wanted to get back at her mother.

…which gave her an idea.

“Wyatt?”

“Hmm?”

Lucy smirked at him, hands on her hips. “You want to steal a map?”

 

* * *

 

“We are literally going to die,” Wyatt said as they scrambled into their horses, map clutched tightly in Lucy’s hand.

Behind them, Emma Whitmore was raising bloody murder. Lucy laughed as she spurred her horse forward.

Onto adventure—to the lost city of Salona.

 

* * *

 

Wyatt dismounted from his horse. Goddamn, it was hotter down south than he’d expected.

He yanked his shirt off and used it to wipe at the sweat sliding down his chest and neck. “You sure that we’re in the right place?” he asked.

“Yes,” Lucy said definitively. “It has to be around here somewhere.”

“Luce. Light of my life. There is literally nothing here. It’s a beach. And a bunch of rocks. And flowers.”

He bent down. They were lovely flowers, bright purple, but mixed in with some of them, towards the base, were smaller red flowers. “Hey, Lucy, c’mere.”

Wyatt picked some of the purple and red flowers and held them out to her. “I’ll braid them in.”

Lucy laughed, but obligingly turned around for him.

This was the kind of thing he had appreciated as a kid—going to the beach, putting flowers in Jessica’s hair—but had forgotten as an adult, until it was too late. Until he’d lost her. Now he had Lucy, and after a rocky start and some bad habits on his part, they’d found their rhythm. Everything with Lucy was so easy. It fell into place.

He’d just finished weaving the flowers through Lucy’s hair, creating an intricate braid like a halo around her head and down her back, when he realized they weren’t alone.

A man was coming up the hill.

He was tall—wow, a good five inches taller than Wyatt, even, with dark hair hanging down in front of his eyes, a sturdy, broad frame, with muscles—Jesus Christ. Wyatt liked to think of himself as a fighter but this man was something else.

Wyatt felt a burning in his body that had nothing to do with the heat of the sun.

“Where the hell did he come from?” Lucy whispered. “It’s like he sprang out of the ground.”

Huh. That was true. One moment they’d most definitely been alone. You could see for miles around here and there was nothing. The next—a man. And they should’ve seen him coming a mile off.

The man stopped and stared at them.

Lucy and Wyatt stared right back at him.

“What the fuck?” Wyatt said.

“I should ask you the same thing,” the man replied. He had an accent that Wyatt couldn’t place but assumed was native to this area. “Who are you?” He squinted at Wyatt. “And why the fuck aren’t you wearing a shirt?”

“It’s hot out.”

“And you’ll get sunburned, look.”

He pushed his hand—wow, that was a large hand, a very large—wow—hand against the middle of Wyatt’s chest.

His hand came away—but left a bright red handprint.

The man looked down at his palm. “Ah. Sorry about that.”

“What the hell?”

“The red flowers,” the man explained. “You crush them into a paste, deadly to ingest but they also stain your hands.”

“Why are you wearing Roman robes?” Lucy asked.

“Why are you wearing such odd garb?” the man shot back.

“You don’t have to be so snarky, God’s sake.”

“You don’t have to be intruding on my goddamn land,” the man replied. “And yet here you are. Out in the middle of nowhere. What—” He stopped, staring at the map sticking out of Lucy’s pocket. “What’s that?”

“That’s… um…” Lucy took a step back. “Nothing. Just an old letter.”

“You’re a horrible liar.”

“Why don’t you just mind your own damn business?” Wyatt asked.

“You started asking questions first!”

“There he is!”

Wyatt jumped, instinctively ready to run—after all how many times had he heard that phrase shouted by city guards—but the men who had emerged from nowhere weren’t pointing at him, but at the man.

They were also—holy shit—dressed like Roman legionnaires.

Wyatt shot Lucy a _what the fuck is happening_ look. Lucy looked just as confused as Wyatt did.

“Stop, Flynn!” one of them yelled.

The man—Flynn—rolled his eyes and put his hands up. “Denise is being paranoid, I just wanted to take a walk…”

“Save it,” one of the soldiers snapped. “And be careful how you address her highness.”

That was when the soldiers seemed to finally notice Lucy and Wyatt.

They stared. And stared. And kept staring.

Wyatt started to get nervous. This wasn’t breaking some weird rule, was it, that he was shirtless or something?

The soldiers whispered among themselves in a language that Wyatt didn’t understand, and then turned to Wyatt and Lucy—

And bowed.

…what the _actual_ fuck was going on here?

 

* * *

 

Lucy gripped Wyatt’s hand tightly as they were led across the field—and down between the rocks.

No, really, _down_ between the rocks.

Down into a kind of staircase that Wyatt would never have even known existed, through what looked like just a crack in the stones but was really deep and widened out into this underground passage.

The passage opened up eventually into a wide, sweeping staircase cut into the rock, and from there…

Wyatt’s jaw dropped and he felt Lucy squeezing his hand so tightly his fingers were tingling from lack of circulation.

It was a massive underground Roman city.

Sunlight filtered in from strategic points high up above, amplified by mirrors that were placed at various angles to reflect the beams and light up the entire area. There were carriages, children playing games, there was a bustling market, a massive fountain…

Lucy looked like all of her history-loving wet dreams had come true in an instant, her mouth open, her eyes shining. “Look—Wyatt look can you—are you seeing—can you believe—this is _beautiful_.”

Flynn, who was standing directly next to Lucy, heard her whisper and got a soft look on his face. Wyatt knew he should’ve felt… some kind of way about that but instead he just got this weird desire for Flynn to look at _him_ like that.

The soldiers led them through the streets as people stopped what they were doing, whispering and pointing and staring. “Make way!” the guards yelled. “Make way!”

They were led up the steps of this massive palace-type building, with gorgeous mosaics and paintings, and into what seemed to be a kind of throne room.

Inside, three people were arguing.

One was a woman with tan skin and straight black hair and a firm mouth, dressed in purple and with gold arm bands and a gold circlet. The other was a woman as well, dark skinned, with thick curling hair framing all around her head like a dark halo, wearing white shot through with green. The third was a man, pale, with a weathered face and a look that reminded Wyatt of a snake, wearing black robes with red trim.

All three stopped and stared as the guards parted, revealing Flynn, Lucy, and Wyatt in the middle.

Flynn quickly got down on one knee, bowing his head to the woman in purple. “Your highness,” he said.

“Oh, stand up Flynn, for the gods’ sake,” the woman, obviously the queen, said with an exhausted tone. “I hate when you do that, you and I both know you never actually mean it when you bow.”

Flynn stood up and Wyatt was reminded of how annoyingly tall the guy was.

“And who are these two?” the queen asked, gesturing at Wyatt and Lucy.

“We think they might be the gods of prophecy, your highness,” one of the guards said.

Wyatt was of two minds about this god idea.

On the one hand: being treated like a god.

On the other hand: he was most definitely not a god of anything. Even if he did like to joke that he was a god at gambling.

“Fascinating,” the man said, stepping forward and examining them. “And how did these gods come to be found?”

“We were chasing Flynn, your holiness,” one of the guards said. “He was sneaking out of the city.”

“And for what purpose?”

Flynn flashed a grin that looked not so much like an actual expression of joy as it did a tiger baring its teeth. “To clear my head. And then I met these… gods, and fell to my knees in worship, and set to bring them back to you so that they could bless our city as the prophecy foretold.”

Well that was a stinking lie if Wyatt ever heard one.

“Forgive me,” Lucy said, slipping easily into the voice Wyatt only heard her use when she was forced to be a noble, “but my companion and I were simply enjoying the realm of mortals.”

Wyatt gave her a _what the hell you’re going with this?_ look.

“Tell me about this prophecy of which you speak,” Lucy commanded, sounding very regal and god-like.

“When the woman arrives with a crown of blood and magic,” the woman in white recited, a large smile on her face, her hands spread, “with the man with the mark of war on his chest, in their strange garb… then you will know that Athena and Ares walk this earth, and the gods are here to pass judgment on the city of Salona.” She took Lucy’s hands and fell to her knees, bowing her head. “Honored Athena. Goddess of wisdom. I am Michelle, your priestess here. It is an honor beyond words.”

“And I am Michael, Michael Temple, high priest of Ares.” The man, Temple, bowed as well.”

Wyatt glanced down at his chest, where Flynn had accidentally left his red handprint. So, that was being taken as the mark of war. Blood and magic crown—the red and purple flowers in Lucy’s hair. Strange garb—well their clothes were strange, compared to Roman togas and chitons and all, sure.

“We must prepare a great feast for you,” Michelle said. “And my goddess, you are so ill-clad, where are your jewels?”

…jewels?

…okay so maybe they could do this god thing just for… a little bit…

“I thought to travel simply,” Lucy said, glancing at Wyatt out of the corner of her eye. “As mortals do.”

“We must array you properly for your welcome feast.” Michelle stood. “It would be my honor.”

“Ah… that’s very… kind…”

“It is lucky that everyone is so acquainted with the prophecy,” Temple said. “Otherwise the guards might have tried to kill you on the spot. Impossible to kill a god of course, but a poor way to welcome you.”

Oh fuck.

“Yeah, that whole ‘no letting in outsiders’ rule sure is pesky, isn’t it?” Flynn said. He had a warning note in his voice that Wyatt suspected wasn’t for Temple and the others, but for him and Lucy.

Shit. Okay, pretending to be gods it was, then.

“I must apologize,” Temple went on. “I should have known that you were coming—I must have missed the signs.”

“Ah, it’s all right, Michael—we can call you Michael, right?” Wyatt asked. “To err is human. To forgive is divine.”

Lucy gave him a _you’re hamming it up too much_ look. Flynn looked like he was holding in laughter, though, and for some reason that made Wyatt’s chest warm.

“Let us show you to your quarters,” Michelle said, indicating the guards with her hands. “We’ve had them prepared ever since we heard the prophecy from the Oracle. We’ve been waiting for you for a long time.”

“So that you can protect us from the great evil that is coming,” Flynn added.

Ah. Okay. So. Great evil. Right. That definitely wasn’t above Wyatt’s pay grade or anything.

“Of course!” Lucy said brightly, then cleared her throat and made her voice regal again. “Of course. Yes. We are here… for that.”

Wyatt sighed inwardly.

They were gonna die.

 

* * *

 

“What did you think you were doing!?” Denise demanded.

Flynn forced his jaw to relax instead of tightening it further. “You know what I was doing.”

“Flynn. Garcia.” Denise paced back and forth, her steps echoing in the throne room. “You know that I can only protect you so far. If you continue with these accusations—”

“Temple arranged to have my wife and child killed, and you know it!”

“We have no _proof_ , Flynn!” He had rarely seen Denise this angry, this off-kilter. “And until we have proof—you cannot go about making unfounded accusations and you absolutely cannot go and try to poison our high priest!”

Flynn folded his arms. “And what are you going to do about it? You can’t stop me. Not unless you want to exile me for good.”

Denise glared at him. “Don’t tempt me.”

From the side came a polite cough.

Flynn and Denise both turned to look at Michelle, who was sitting on the steps that led up to the throne. “If I may intercede,” she said, her tone careful, “perhaps Flynn’s punishment could be serving the gods that have graced us with their presence.”

Flynn snorted. Yeah, right. He wasn’t serving anyone. Not even someone like the lovely Lucy—or as everyone was calling her, Athena. And Wyatt, yeah, right, that guy did not need his head getting any bigger than it already was. Flynn didn’t know if he wanted to kiss the guy or strangle him.

“Surely if one of their high priests is being unworthy, the gods would know,” Michelle went on. “Perhaps that is why they are here.”

“We don’t know that’s why they’re here,” Flynn said.

Michelle got an impatient look on her face. “Perhaps, as their appointed servant, who would be alone in the room with them… you could be sure to find out that’s why. They. Are. Here.”

_Oh._

Flynn looked at Denise, who appeared thoughtful, pressing her lips together. “It would be unwise of us to presume the ways of the gods,” she said slowly. “But it would be just as unwise of us to fail to inform them of one of their priests abusing his power. If anyone can know the truth of a man’s character, it is a god.”

She fixed Flynn with a stern look. “But for the love of all that’s holy, Flynn. Be. Careful.”

Flynn smirked. Oh, if only Denise knew. “Trust me. I’m sure I can get the gods to listen.”

If they wanted to keep their cover from being blown wide open, they would.

 

* * *

 

In the ten minutes it took to get them to their appointed quarters, Lucy watched Wyatt go from ‘maybe we should do this god thing to y’know not die’ to ‘holy shit this god thing is amazing why didn’t we do this years ago’.

She’d spent every waking moment with Wyatt since they’d met, right after Jess had died and Wyatt had been grieving and Amy had been married off to that idiotic pompous as Lord Keynes and Lucy had been spitting mad about it. Their first job had been turning Amy from a wealthy bride into an even wealthier widow, and they’d been together ever since. Lucy had seen Wyatt in so many moods that by now she could practically read his mind, and right now Wyatt’s mind was screaming, _this is the greatest thing ever._

“Look at this!” Wyatt held up a solid gold fruit bowl. “Lucy, are you seeing this shit!?”

“I’d put that down if I were you, Ares,” a familiar voice drawled.

Wyatt nearly dropped the bowl as Flynn entered the room.

God, he was handsome. If Lucy had met him in a tavern she’d have introduced herself by sitting on his lap.

“Aren’t you two lucky that I know your little secret?” Flynn noted, grabbing some grapes from Wyatt.

Wyatt glared at him. “Is that a threat?”

“No. It’s a chance to work together. We’ve got a prophecy from ages ago that says a great evil will befall our city unless we stay hidden and wait for the gods to come and the gods will keep us safe. It’s why we don’t allow outsiders, why we have them killed—so they can’t bring the evil to us by telling others of our existence.”

“Sounds pretty barbaric,” Wyatt pointed out.

Flynn raised an eyebrow at him. “Because you’re, I’m sure, from a utopia where nobody ever hurts anybody or takes advantage of anybody and war has been eradicated.”

Wyatt opened his mouth, closed it, then muttered, “Touché.”

“The feast to welcome you will take a while to prepare,” Flynn informed them, lounging on one of the gold-plated couches. It showed off his legs nicely, Lucy noted. “Until then, you’re to be here. Conducting hearings from the people as you see fit. I figure that should give us enough time for me to coach you.”

Wyatt snorted. “What, you think that we can’t handle this by ourselves?”

Flynn smirked at him. “I know you can’t.”

“And what about you?” Wyatt snapped. “You’ve got no stake in this? You’d die too if you’re not allowed to leave the city—you had to sneak out—what are you a criminal?”

Flynn stood up so fast that Lucy got a bit of whiplash just looking at him. “I am not a criminal,” he snarled, getting in Wyatt’s face.

“Ooh, did I strike a nerve?” Wyatt shot back. “We don’t need your help.”

“Yes, we do, Wyatt,” Lucy said. She had no idea what to do with this god thing herself, and she was a lot more scared than she liked to admit.

“We do?” Wyatt said, looking at her.

Flynn looked just as surprised that she’d agreed with him about this so easily.

Lucy shrugged. “We don’t know the customs, we’re not really gods and we don’t know what to expect when they look at us to… to perform miracles. We need help to pull this con off.”

Wyatt folded his arms. Lucy leveled him with a look. She’d made their partnership clear from the first: Wyatt did what she said, and they’d get along fine.

Wyatt sighed, and cut his gaze over to Flynn. “You watch yourself,” he said. “I know you’re hiding something. You’re not just in this out of the goodness of your heart.”

“Because you are,” Flynn said, pointedly looking at the gold fruit bowl.

Wyatt went red in the face.

Lucy laughed.

Over the next few days, Flynn taught them everything about Salona. That was the name of the place—Emma’s map had been right, it seemed, except for the whole ‘hidden underground’ part. Flynn seemed oddly okay with the fact that Lucy and Wyatt planned on getting out of this place as soon as possible with as much gold as possible. Wyatt was more into the idea of being rich than Lucy was. She’d been born rich, thanks, she wasn’t too keen on it. But money could buy passage, it could buy freedom, and she wanted the freedom to go wherever she wanted and see the world.

The Diocletian’s Palace—that was where they were staying was called—was lavish and gorgeous, and Lucy had never, not even growing up with her mother, been in a place this beautiful. Flynn quizzed them in the massive garden (and got into fights with Wyatt in the garden) and showed them the fountains that had water bubbling up from deep below (and pushed Wyatt into one of them, upon which Wyatt spluttered and shoved Flynn into another one) and helped Lucy work on her bearing and her accent and her walk (and tripped Wyatt up so that Wyatt dumped wine on his head and… yeah).

Lucy liked Flynn. She liked him a lot. Wyatt seemed to be falling in love with the gifts that people were giving them and the feast being prepared for them and the jewels they were getting to wear, and Lucy…

Lucy worried she was falling for something else entirely.

She didn’t care that Flynn definitely had some kind of secret he was keeping from her. She just cared that he held out his hand to help her up the steps, and gently took her wine cup from her when she’d had too much, and tucked her hair behind her ear, and looked at her in a way that made her think maybe, just maybe—she could pull off being a goddess.

On the day before the big feast, Wyatt and Flynn had another argument. “You wouldn’t last two minutes out in the city!” Flynn snapped.

“Fuckin’ watch me!” Wyatt shouted back, and he stormed out.

Flynn scrubbed a hand across his face. “I’m sorry, Lucy, I’ll… I’ll go get him.”

Lucy shook her head. “Let him walk it off. He just needs time. And you—throw him off-kilter.”

Flynn snorted. “I don’t seem to throw you off-kilter.”

Lucy allowed herself a small smile. “But you do.”

Flynn’s face went a bit pink and he looked away.

Lucy curled up in the chair. “I just don’t understand how—how Wyatt could take so easily to this. I mean, gods? Us?”

Flynn shrugged, picking up an apple and tossing it idly into the air. “I could believe it.”

Lucy snorted, turning away from the glittering city to face him. “Flynn. How on earth could I be mistaken for a goddess? Much less the goddess Athena?”

Flynn’s face went red and he mumbled something, just barely catching the apple.

“What?”

Flynn set the apple down and turned to face her. “It’s nothing. Just. Trust me, they believe you. With my help, anyway.”

His roguish grin didn’t fool her. Lucy stood up. “Flynn. Why would they believe me? I’m a… a thief, a nobody, we’re barely scraping by in this con and…”

Flynn looked so bemused that Lucy paused. “What?”

He stared at her. “You really… don’t see it, do you?”

“See what?”

Flynn walked up to her. With her standing on the steps, and him down below, they were almost the same height. “When I saw you… Lucy, if I didn’t know—if I hadn’t seen—I’d believe, same as everyone else in this city. You’re…” He struggled for words, his mouth freezing halfway open, his throat working. “Never mind.”

Lucy grabbed his wrist before he could turn away, the blood roaring in her ears. She was drawing too close to the fire now, so close she could get burned, and she had known from the start—Wyatt was right, Flynn was dangerous, they couldn’t be sure of him, he seemed to shed his skin like a snake, shifting, layers and layers to him—but she also wanted, she wanted, she _wanted_ and if she was committing so many sins already…

“Garcia,” she whispered. “What am I?”

Flynn swallowed, his eyes unexpectedly, deeply soft as he gazed at her. “Divine.”

Lucy made a helpless noise she hadn’t even known she was capable of, and yanked on his robes, kissing him.

Flynn went still as a statue, and it was rather—well, to be honest, Lucy’d had better kisses. His hands spasmed in the air, as if he didn’t know what hands were, never mind what to do with them, and Lucy thought—oh. She’d misunderstood all of this.

And then Flynn inhaled sharply, his hands falling to her waist, keeping her steady, and he began to kiss her back. He tilted his head, moving his lips softly against hers, and oh, _that_. That was a good kiss.

She got up onto her tiptoes, pressed harder against him, sliding her hands up to grip his biceps. Flynn made a wrecked noise and tightened his hold on her waist, swiping his tongue against the seam of her lips.

Lucy opened at once, pressing into him, sucking his tongue into her mouth and swallowing the absolutely obscene noise that Flynn made in response. He was deliciously firm against her, all muscle, the robes doing little to keep the heat of his body from her.

She’d devour him, ride him, _wreck_ him if he’d let her.

“Lucy,” Flynn hissed, pulling back just enough to get air. “ _Moja boginjo_ , can I—”

“Whatever you want,” she whispered, yanking him in and kissing him again. Whatever he wanted, she wanted, she wanted him in her, on her, under her, just—just— _him_.

Flynn slid his arm around her waist, and next thing Lucy knew he was lifting her up, her feet leaving the ground. She squeaked in surprise, wrapping her arms around his neck, as his other hand tangled in her hair and tugged her head back to nip at her throat.

She got her legs around his waist and purred as she rocked her hips and met delectable hardness, large and insistent, perfect for her to grind against. Sparks flew through her legs, slick staining her robes as she moved insistently. They were wearing very little, truly, it would be the easiest thing to just… twist her hips and thrust just so, work the robes off, sink down onto him… it would be a tight fit, it might hurt at first, but oh, God, then it would get good, so good…

Lucy squeaked again in surprise as Flynn crouched, laying her down onto the couch. She hadn’t even realized they were moving. He pulled away, down her body, planting thorough, sucking kisses to her neck, her collarbone, nudging aside her robes to get at the swell of her breasts.

 _Oh_. That silver tongue of his was good for more than just lying to his queen, apparently, as Flynn flicked his tongue over her nipple, sucked it into his mouth and tugged lightly with his teeth, making a meal of her until Lucy was panting, staring unseeing up at the mosaic ceiling.

When Flynn switched to her other breast she nearly sobbed. She wanted—he was being such a tease and she wanted—needed—more, dammit.

“Get back here,” she said, tugging at his hair and shoulders. “Your goddess commands it.”

Flynn gave an amused rumble in his chest, his gaze flicking up to her. Then he slowly, deliberately, tugged open her robes while maintaining eye contact, bending down and kissing her stomach.

Lucy squirmed, arching up into his mouth. Flynn pressed her thighs open with his large hands, fuck, his large, callused hands, she wanted those in her mouth, she wanted them fucking her—and he kept kissing his way downward. “ _Dopustite mi da vas obožavam_ ,” he murmured, mouth pressed to her hip, the words making his teeth scrape against the sensitive skin there.

“Garcia…” she managed, tugging on his hair again—but now less to pull him away and more to encourage him.

Flynn nosed down between her legs, right up against her folds, where she was hot and wet and felt like she might actually die if she didn’t get something to relieve the building pressure.

The first lick was delicate, like he wanted to get just a small taste, to properly roll her on his tongue, see how she was, and Lucy almost shoved his face into her and demanded he get on with it.

When Flynn dove back in again, however, he didn’t waste a moment. He ran the flat of his tongue along her clit, then swirled in tight, concentrated circles, and Lucy shuddered all over, her body seizing up, pleasure building like a wave. It was like he didn’t even need to breathe, and she was clawing uselessly at him—normally she’d be worried she was hurting him but Flynn kept making pleased little hums against her clit so she figured he liked it—close, close, yes, so close, right—yes—

Flynn pulled away and Lucy gasped, eyes flying open (when had she closed them?) as her orgasm slipped away from her.

Flynn lightly bit at her inner thigh, sucking briefly, the pleasure-pain making her retreat even farther from the edge.

_Goddammit._

“Garcia…” She tried to glare at him but knew she’d mostly failed. “Don’t make me order you.”

“You’re welcome to,” Flynn replied, dragging a finger through her folds and then slipping it into his mouth, sucking.

A realization tugged at the corner of her mind. “…you like it when I order you.”

Flynn drew his finger out of his mouth with a lewd _pop_. “Maybe.”

Lucy cleared her throat. “Garcia.” She tightened her hand in his hair and drew him down to her. “Eat me.”

Flynn’s smile was like quicksilver, and then he was back, diving in, licking her heated skin, twisting his tongue into her, curling it under her clit, lapping, rubbing, tasting, his fingers sliding in—

Lucy arched, out of air, lungs burning, colors blurring, shaking and soundless as she came.

Flynn practically purred as she sank back down, massaging her thighs, kissing along her heated skin.

Lucy felt like she had melted. She couldn’t even move. Which was a problem seeing as she also very much wanted to fuck him still, or at least get him in her mouth and return the favor.

And then—

Footsteps.

Flynn jerked his head up. “ _Sranje_. Get dressed.”

“Mmm?” Words… she knew words…

“Do you have any idea what they’ll say if they find me like this with a goddess?” Flynn hissed, standing up and trying to fix his hair.

“Um… lucky goddess?”

The doors burst open and Temple entered. Lucy inwardly groaned. “Ah, your graciousness. I was hoping to find you hear. I wanted to ask your opinions on the planned feast tonight.”

Lucy held in her sigh and sat up properly. “Yes, all right.” She glanced at Flynn, who looked less than happy that Temple was here, and not just in the usual _you interrupted our sex_ kind of way.

After Temple left, she turned to face Flynn properly. As much as she wanted to get back to business and see if he was, as they said, proportionate, her curiosity about this was greater.

“You don’t like him,” she said. “You don’t trust him. Why?”

Flynn scowled in the direction Temple had left. “He’s the reason I was outside the gates.”

“And nobody goes outside the gates,” Lucy said, repeating the rule that Denise had said.

Flynn nodded. “I used to… hold a good position here, believe it or not.” He sat down on the end of the couch. “I was captain of the guards. I had a wife. A child. Iris. We named her after the flowers that grow around here. Temple… he’s had a hold over the religious worship here for ages. Denise has tried to wrestle some control away but…” Flynn shook his head. “You’re the first real threat to his power in years.

“He claims to talk to the gods, and people believe him. Except me. I knew he was faking it. I tried to get proof—to sneak into the temple—but I failed. Someone must’ve seen me and reported me to him. The next night… I came home from a night shift to find Lorena and Iris dead. I went… a little out of my mind. Denise had to demote me from my post. It was the right thing I wasn’t—I wasn’t thinking straight. But I know what he did.” Flynn looked up at her, met her gaze head-on, his eyes dark and glittering with pain. “I know he killed them. And I won’t stop, not until he pays for it.”

He didn’t say straight out ‘until he dies for it’, but Lucy could read it in Flynn’s eyes.

And honestly… it didn’t concern her. Didn’t scare her.

She nodded. “That’s why you’re helping us, isn’t it?”

“Well.” Flynn shrugged. “Yes. Among other reasons.”

Lucy tilted her head. “Oh, goodness, what could those other reasons possibly be?”

Flynn blushed, looking down at the floor. “Yes. Well. I don’t know that your compatriot will be as eager to help me out as you are. He seems a little… caught up.”

“Wyatt will come around. He lost his wife to a street fight. He knows what it is to lose someone unfairly.”

“Perhaps, but he seems predisposed not to like me.”

“Oh, he likes you,” Lucy said. She’d recognize that _top me top me top me_ look in Wyatt’s eyes anywhere. “Trust me. And you are a little intense.”

Flynn looked at her, raising an eyebrow. “You seem to handle me just fine.”

He seemed to realize that was an innuendo only after he’d said it, blushing again.

Lucy smirked. How he could be so bold one moment and then a blushing idiot the next, she didn’t know.

But she liked it.

“Well, since Michael seems unlikely to interrupt again,” she purred, crawling across the couch to him, “let’s talk about me ‘handling’ you some more…”

 

* * *

 

Wyatt had never been out into the city.

Temple had forbidden it—Wyatt hated that guy—and Flynn had, for once, agreed.

“You go out there and you act like a normal person, they’re going to start doubting you,” he’d said.

“Gods in myths go out disguised as ordinary people all the time!” Wyatt had argued.

Well, he’d had just about enough. Flynn was keeping stuff from them, Wyatt knew he was, and Wyatt wasn’t going to put his trust in someone who didn’t trust them in return.

No matter that he got this huge surge of warmth in his chest when Flynn would quiz him in a low, teasing voice, or no matter how hard he laughed when he got revenge on Flynn for dumping him in the fountain. Or the way his throat got tight when Flynn admitted he had never seen the stars, and Wyatt found himself telling Flynn everything he could remember about the constellations.

And he wanted to see this damn city.

He grabbed a shawl and put it over his head, wrapping it around his face, keeping himself concealed. Most people hadn’t seen him since he and Lucy had entered so he figured keeping himself a bit covered up would be enough to throw people off.

Some kids were playing ball in the street, and the ball skittered over to Wyatt until he could stop it with his foot. He grinned. He didn’t speak the local language, the one that Flynn swore in a lot, but he sure spoke the language of sports.

He kicked the ball back and forth between his feet, then flipped it up and kicked it back towards the kids. It was a girl with tan skin and a boy who looked like he could be her brother, and then another boy with dark skin, and they grinned delightedly and gestured for him to join them.

“Kevin!” A tall man, dark skinned, with neatly trimmed stubble and covered in soot, hurried up. “Dinner time—oh, hey.”

Wyatt paused. “Hey, sorry, uh, just joined in.”

“No, no, it’s okay.” The guy narrowed his eyes. “I’m Rufus, you are?”

Wyatt wasn’t sure if he should lie or not. “I’m…”

“Rufus, Rufus, I think I figured out how to get the…” A woman skidded to a halt, grabbing onto Rufus’s arm. “Oh.”

“This is Jiya,” Rufus said automatically.

“Why are you two covered in soot?” Wyatt asked.

“Why is a god sneaking out into the street?” Jiya shot back.

“To meet the people I’m supposed to be protecting,” Wyatt told her.

“We’re inventors,” Rufus said. “I’m apprenticed to Mason, he’s one of our best. He upkeeps our city, makes sure that we can keep surviving underground, came up with some really clever agriculture techniques. We were testing a new invention we got from the far east.”

“Would you like to see?” Jiya asked. “I mean… if a god such as yourself… would be interested… I’m sure you have much more interesting things up on Olympus.”

“No, no, hey, show me.”

Rufus and Jiya did show him—they showed him all over the city. He tried to be inconspicuous but everywhere he went, people were pressing small gifts into his hand, bowing to him, praising him.

A guy could get used to that.

In fact, why shouldn’t he get used to this? Who said he and Lucy had to leave? Here they had everything they wanted. They had people _worshipping_ them, for crying out loud, why not take advantage of that?

“Wy—Ares!”

Wyatt turned to see Flynn dashing up, looking out of breath and…

…was that a goddamn hickey on his throat?

If Lucy fucked Flynn without Wyatt he was gonna be so pissed.

Not that—he and Lucy fucked whoever they wanted, they were open about that kind of thing, but c’mon she knew that he had—

Not that he did.

He didn’t.

Ahem.

Women were _great_. Wyatt liked women.

“You’re going to be late for the feast,” Flynn hissed. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Having fun! Seeing the city!” Wyatt gestured. “It’s amazing here, how can you not love it?”

“I loved it more when my family was alive,” Flynn said bluntly. He grabbed Wyatt’s wrist. “Now come on—”

Voices sounded around the corner.

Wyatt thought the voices were a bit familiar, but before he could do anything about it, Flynn had yanked him into a narrow alley and pressed him up against the wall, into the shadows. “What—”

“Shh.” Flynn put his hand over Wyatt’s mouth.

Jesus Christ those muscles weren’t just for show he could feel every inch of Flynn pressed up against him and Jeeeeeeesus…

“I know they aren’t really gods.” It was Temple. “They think they can fool me? I’ll show them, you just do your part. Make them bleed—gods don’t bleed—and then I can finally take the damn throne from Denise and that ridiculous wife of hers.”

“He likes to monologue,” Flynn whispered. His breath was warm on Wyatt’s neck and Wyatt thought he might actually die.

“We need to tell Lucy,” Wyatt whispered as Temple moved on, muttering something about how he’d just seen ‘Ares’ around here somewhere with that ‘ridiculous apprentice’. “She’ll come up with a plan, she always does.”

Flynn nodded, but he didn’t back away.

Wyatt thought his heart might have migrated up to his throat.

“Temple murdered my family,” Flynn whispered. “Would’ve killed me, too, but it was better to frame me for it. I lost my position, lost my dignity. Because I questioned him. That’s the kind of man he is. It’s why I chose to help you and Lucy—to protect you and to use you to get back at him.”

At some point Flynn’s hands had migrated to Wyatt’s waist. Wyatt couldn’t say that he minded it.

“So you’re right.” Flynn shrugged. “I was keeping something from you. But I promise you.” He looked Wyatt dead in the eye. “I’ll make sure that you and Lucy are safe.”

“I know,” Wyatt whispered. “I know you will.” Flynn was a bastard but he was Wyatt and Lucy’s bastard, dammit.

Flynn’s gaze flicked down to Wyatt’s mouth, then back up to meet his gaze. “Do you know why I keep pulling your pigtails?”

“I don’t have pigtails.”

Flynn chuckled, and then—

Wyatt liked women. He liked _women_.

…but he also really, really liked kissing Flynn.

Flynn’s hands slid over him like he’d been planning this, and Wyatt got his hands onto Flynn’s shoulders, broad, firm shoulders, and Lucy made him feel like he was freefalling in the best kind of way but Flynn was steady and solid and safe, oddly, yes, safe.

“What happens if you get caught doing this with a god?” Wyatt breathed.

“Execution probably,” Flynn noted. He sounded supremely unconcerned. “So let’s not get caught.”

Wyatt ignored the voice at the back of his head that was still freaking out and let Flynn kiss him again.

He really, really liked this city.

 

* * *

 

“So he’s going to try and get an assassin to, what, stab us?” Lucy asked, pacing back and forth. “To prove that we’re not gods?”

“Pretty much,” Flynn said.

“Okay, so we need to prove that we’re gods. We need to do something truly godlike, we need…” Lucy snapped her fingers a few times. “In a con, what you need—to make it work, it’s not like thieving, in thieving you want to be invisible, in a con you need to make a spectacle, make them look exactly where you want them to. We need to put on a show…” She stopped and looked at Flynn. “Know anyone who could put on a show for me?”

“I do,” Wyatt said, sounding shocked that he was even saying it. “The apprentices of the inventor, Mason.”

Flynn’s gaze lit up. “That… might actually work.” He looked at Lucy. “You’ll need to be a proper goddess, though.”

Lucy took a deep breath. “Don’t worry,” she assured him. “I have that covered.”

 

* * *

 

The feast looked beautiful, _was_ beautiful, delicious food and dancers and jewels hidden inside cuts of meat and music and performers of all sorts.

But Lucy could hardly enjoy it.

Wyatt looked delighted by the whole thing, but Lucy couldn’t forget what was planned, what Temple had in mind, what she had to do to stop him.

Towards the end of the night, Temple stood. “Most divine Athena,” he said. “Goddess of wisdom and the arts. Perhaps you could grace us with a performance of your own.”

He was setting her up, he had to be.

Lucy smiled graciously. Same as any other con, she told herself. “It is the least I can do to thank you people for your hospitality and humble worship.”

She stood up, and turned to go up the steps. Flynn offered his hand, as he always did, and Lucy took it, letting him help her ascend up so that she could be on the landing above the others. One of the musical performers held out his hand to her. “What would Athena like to perform?” he asked her.

 _People look where they intend to go_ , Wyatt had told her once, and it was true. A person who cared about gold kept looking at his purse.

This man was looking not at the ground, humbly, and not into her eyes, but hungrily at her hand.

Lucy reached out—

—and grabbed his wrist, twisting, as a hidden blade emerged, narrowly missing her hand.

Denise shot to her feet. “What is this!?” she demanded.

Flynn struck quickly as a snake, grabbing the man and yanking the blade from him, leading him struggling and kicking away from Lucy. “An attempt on a goddess, that is what it is,” Flynn growled.

Lucy turned, glaring at Temple. “This is one of your acolytes, is it not?”

Temple jumped up. “I—” He looked as though he might protest his innocence, but then stopped. Glared. “I am only attempting to expose the truth!”

“And what is that truth?” Lucy snapped. Her heart was hammering in her chest, her breathing shallow. Don’t let them see your nerves, number one rule of a con, never let them see your nerves.

“That you,” Temple declared, “are no goddess!”

“I am no goddess?” Lucy hissed. “I am _no goddess_!?”

She reached up and snapped her fingers.

And fire exploded in the sky.

Everyone screamed and gasped as bursts of red, blue, and green burst above them, all around them, threatening to rain down on them.

Lucy’s voice rang out, deeper, echoing, but it didn’t come from her body. “I am Athena! I am the goddess of wisdom, of knowledge! I know all, including your pathetic plans. Did you think you could hide from me, Michael? Did you think your dark thoughts went unnoticed by Olympus?”

She moved down the steps towards him, an eerie light seeming to frame her face, emerging from her mouth. Temple scrambled backwards, his eyes wide, jaw slack with terror.

“Did you forget, Michael?” Lucy’s voice still boomed from what felt like every corner. “Did you forget that I am also the goddess of war? It is lucky that I will punish you, and only you, and not rain fire on this entire city!”

The fire stopped. Lucy’s voice returned to normal. “I’m sure,” she said smoothly, “that our just queen knows the punishment for those who betray the gods.”

 

* * *

 

Behind the main temple, Rufus and Jiya high-fived. And if they were surrounded by a curious Chinese invention known as ‘fire works’, some massive empty metal drums positioned so that when Jiya yelled into one it made her voice boom all over the square, and a rather interesting concoction of what science would later call ‘phosphorescent’ that made one’s breath glow when consumed…

Well. Nobody was around to tattle on them.

 

* * *

 

As Temple was dragged away, Flynn breathed a sigh of relief. Thank fuck. “I think we’ve all had enough excitement for tonight,” he said. “And that everyone should retire.”

Denise nodded in agreement, escorting her children and her wife away and then telling everyone to go to bed.

Lucy held her hand out to Flynn, who bent low, taking it. “ _Moja boginjo_?”

“If you would attend us,” she said, glancing at Wyatt, “I think we ought to get ready for bed.”

Flynn looked at Wyatt.

Wyatt swallowed, looking like a deer in the sights of a hunter, and met Flynn’s gaze. “Yes. I think we’ll need your help with that.”

“Help with what, exactly?” Flynn murmured ten minutes later, pressing him down into the bed as Lucy kissed slowly down Flynn’s shoulder.

“Fuckin’ everything, according to you,” Wyatt replied, his attempt at sass somewhat ruined from the strain in his voice as Flynn practically ripped his robes off.

Lucy was a goddess and Flynn wanted to worship.

But Wyatt was a god that he wanted to yank right down to earth.

And Flynn didn’t know which one—Wyatt’s swearing and grunting and begging or Lucy’s soft orders and gasps and shuddering sighs—was more rewarding.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Denise held an audience in her throne room, Michelle by her side.

“You must understand,” Lucy finished explaining, “this woman will stop at nothing to exploit you if she knows of your existence. You must keep the city hidden.”

“And we will do so,” Denise promised.

Only Flynn knew the full story about Lucy’s mother, and the map, and how Lucy and Wyatt had come by it. The truth had been whispered to him in the soft early hours before dawn, Wyatt sprawled on top of him and Lucy curled into his side, her finger lightly, teasingly tracing the curve of his jaw as he stared up at her, petting Wyatt’s hair with his free hand.

 “Thank you,” Denise said. “You’ve saved us not once, but twice, from without and within. Please—if you wish to go then you may go. But if you wish to stay—we would be honored to have you remain here, with us.”

Flynn looked at Lucy. God, he wanted her to stay, he wanted her to stay so badly—but more than that—he wanted to leave. Leave this city, get away, explore, instead of staying in this place of ghosts.

He looked at Wyatt. The push-pull inside him that happened with Wyatt, the way he was drawn to him like a roaring fire, the way Wyatt would fall into him and then try to pull away—Flynn wanted to pursue that. Pursue it until Wyatt stopped pulling away and just let himself finish falling.

“I’m afraid we can’t,” Lucy said at the same moment that Wyatt said, “We would love to.”

They stared at each other.

“One moment,” Lucy said, and then she drew Wyatt aside.

Flynn nodded at Denise, then followed.

“We can’t possibly stay,” Lucy hissed.

“And why not?” Wyatt retorted. “We have everything we could possibly want here.”

“I don’t want this!” Lucy whispered, waving her hand. “I want adventure, I want to explore, I want freedom! This is just like home, it’s just another cage, another role to play.”

“This is luxury! Riches! People fawning over us!”

Hurt entered Lucy’s eyes. “I thought all you needed was me.”

Wyatt fumbled. “I—of course I need you, Luce, but—why not have this too?”

Lucy looked sad, and she shook her head. “I don’t need this, Wyatt. I never have.”

“I’ll go with you,” Flynn blurted out, immediately cursing himself for it. “If… if you would like, that is.”

Lucy’s eyes looked wet, and she held out her hand.

Flynn knew she wasn’t a goddess. He’d known it right away. And yet—he also knew that she was.

He got down on his knees in front of her, bowing his head. He’d never willingly bowed to anyone, not even Denise, as she’d sarcastically pointed out the other day.

But for Lucy…

He’d kiss her feet if that was what she needed from him.

Lucy’s hand carded through his hair, her thumb catching on the rim of his ear, her nails lightly scratching his scalp. “Garcia, please,” her voice was soft and barely a whisper. “Don’t bow to me.”

He stood up, and Lucy’s eyes were still wet but her smile was radiant. “Yes. Yes, I would like very much if you would come with us…” She stopped. “With me,” she amended.

She looked at Wyatt, who stood firm.

“Denise will give us whatever we need,” Flynn said quietly. “We can head out in the morning.”

Lucy and Wyatt looked at each other one last time, and then Lucy walked away, her back a hard, angry line.

Flynn looked at Wyatt, just in time to see the hurt look on his face before his expression smoothed out and he turned away.

“You know, you’re a real pain in the ass,” Flynn said. “But we’ll miss you. Both of us. Who else am I going to push into fountains?”

Wyatt kept his back turned.

Flynn sighed, and went off after Lucy.

 

* * *

 

Wyatt stood on the balcony and looked out over the city. The shining, hidden city, with its laughing people and twisting alleyways and secrets.

He really did love this place.

He felt someone come up to stand beside him, and he looked over to find Denise there.

“Athena is readying her horse for the journey back to Mt. Olympus,” Denise noted. “She is taking Flynn with her, to be her cup bearer.”

Wyatt recalled a particular myth about Ganymede and Zeus and had to swallow a chuckle. “I see.”

“The people are grateful you have decided to stay and grace us with your presence.”

Wyatt nodded, looking down at his hands. “I, uh, feel that I should apologize.”

“Apologize? What for?” Denise turned to lean her elbow against the balcony railing, looking at him.

Wyatt shrugged. “I haven’t had such… direct worship in so long, I let it get to my head. I fear I was a bit callous with all of you.”

Denise looked at him silently for a long moment, until he could no longer bear it.

“I’m sorry,” Wyatt said, his voice hoarse.

Denise laid a hand on his shoulder. “It’s all right. To err is human.”

Wyatt’s head whipped up, hot shame and cold fear both whipping through him like a hurricane.

But Denise’s smile was gentle and knowing.

 

* * *

 

Lucy and Flynn were untying the horses when Wyatt hurried up. “Hey.”

Lucy eyed him warily. “Hey.”

Wyatt shuffled his weight from foot to foot. “You got room for one more?”

Lucy’s eyes got a little wide, but she tried to cover it by busying herself with the harness. “What, got bored being worshipped and told how perfect you are?”

“Yeah, actually,” Wyatt replied bluntly.

Lucy paused, her hands still on the reins, frozen.

“I don’t… I don’t want to be someone I’m not. And with you—I could be myself. As weak and stupid and flawed as that poor son of a bitch is, he’s me. And I don’t… I don’t want to spend the rest of my life pretending. I want to be… you make me better.” He glanced over at Flynn. “Both of you. And I want… I like who I am. With you.”

Lucy looked at Flynn, who gave a half-bow as if to say _it’s your choice._

She looked at Wyatt for a long moment—and then held out her hand.

Wyatt took it with an expression of broken gratefulness. Lucy squeezed his hand. “Then grab a horse.”

Wyatt’s grin split his entire face.

“So,” Flynn said, swinging onto his horse, “where are we off to next?”

“Good question.” Wyatt accepted the hand up onto his own horse, blushing when Flynn held onto it for a couple seconds longer than necessary before letting go. He looked over at Lucy. “Where to?”

Lucy grinned. “Wherever the road takes us.” She snapped the reins and her horse took off. “Try and keep up!”

Flynn and Wyatt grinned at each other, and then took off after her.

**Author's Note:**

> Moja boginjo = my goddess  
> Dopustite mi da vas obožavam = let me worship you


End file.
